Imrahil and the War
by riddermarkmick
Summary: From Dol Arnoth to Minas Tirith and the War, the conflict through the eyes of Prince Imrahil. Also starring: Faramir, Gandalf, Denethor, Aragorn, Pippin, Eomer, Theoden, Eowyn and others! they all will enter at the correct time.
1. Patience

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth

The author of this fic does not own any of the characters. That is why it is published here and not making money or producing royalty checks.  
Chapter 1.  
He grew up watching the waves smash against the stones. "The power of Ulmo is still strong in the world," the majestic lad thought. Royal blood was in his veins, yet he was still very in tune with the elements around him. "He is like an elf," those of the port city always said. They had good reason to say such things about Imrahil. He was tall, fair haired and strong. He was kin to the line of Isildur, some said he looked the part himself.

The young man thought about how the world was changing around him. The darkness from the east was getting ever closer. Being a prince in a time when there was no ruling royal family was difficult on Imrahil. "How does my country view me?" was a common question that he asked. He heard that the Stewards have for ages disliked those whose blood made them royalty. Despite his many questions, he was the leader of men... men of Gondor.

Imrahil trained with his men regularly. He believed that the only way to be ready for the war with the Dark Lord was to have the best-trained combat men around. The knights of Dol Amroth were arguably the best troops in the country of Gondor. Their armor was spectacular; every man looked strong and noble, the women always cheered and loved them. Imrahil lived a good life, though he knew destiny and country would call upon him before he passed away.

He looked to his closest friends and told them the war was coming. Sauron has openly proclaimed himself, all evil was gathering in Mordor. He could see the remaining power of the west leaving under his very nose. "I have seen the Elves leaving from my city almost every day," Imrahil said sadly. Soon, we will lose many of our long-standing allies. Even those that remain will be able to accomplish little for long. If Gondor is to survive, it will be its own people that will need to be victorious.

Victory, a word that Gondor was able to exclaim regularly in its past. However, now, his nation was weak. Plague and fear had claimed the heart of most of the citizens. In his fiefdom, the prince did all he could to keep the spirits of the people up. What could he do to help save his country? How would he do it? Imrahil sat in deep thought. Then there was a sound of hoofs on the ground, following by a loud neigh from a horse.

"My Prince," exclaimed the rider, "it's a message from Minis Tirith."

To be continued


	2. The muster of Dol Amroth

**Imrahil Chapter 2**

The Bay of Belfalas was beautiful to the prince. He liked to look at it for long periods of time. Even now as he summoned his knights and called for soldiers to go to war he looked out over the bay in peace. From Tirith Aear he could see far out into the distance, his countenance showed no fear yet he knew time was not in his favor.

It has been several days since Imrahil sent word for his men to gather he was hoping for more than he had at hand. "We have a little over 700 men," an aid told him knowing this was hardly encouraging news. But, he knew that many men had fears of leaving their homes in war. Several times in the history of Dol Amroth Corsairs had attacked his city from the sea. He knew many men were not cowards, but wanted to defend their homes should the enemy show up.

Imrahil listened to the music below him. Despite being high above the ground in his tower, the gentle cords of the harps could be heard. He thought to himself that the harps made better music than the drums and horns would make when he would be engaged in battle. Like most of Gondor, the people were more artistic and studied than in many other places. The strains of the harps were above all human grace; the vocals were spoken in elvish, rather than the native tongue. All who listened were nearly cast into a spell. Imrahil closed his eyes one more time before turning and slowly descending to the ground.

Walking out of the Tirith Aear, the lordly prince cast a long shadow. He was wearing his best armor, some of the finest in the entire world. He called for his guards, the came forth and he rode with them toward the camp that was formed slightly down the road.

"Have the men form up," Imrahil ordered. A lieutenant had a horn sound, the men formed in several lines. He had his famed knights on the right, the infantry on the left. He could tell that fear had gripped most of them. He knew the thoughts of battle and death was in present in their chests. Imrahil rode to the center, an aid carrying a furled standard rode by his side. He turned to his men and he words recorded were enthralling:

Finduilas once road to Minis Tirith from our town in happiness. She rode there to wed Denethor, the ruling steward of our country. While her time has gone, it is to be time once again for those from Belfalas to ride to the capital or their nation. This time we will travel not in happiness, but for war. The blood of our fiefdom is shared with the senior captains of Gondor. No Dark Lord shall ever raise their banner over our lands, your families shall not be placed into the bonds of slavery. Today men we ride forth, not for fear of death! Not for fear of defeat! No my friends, today we ride to Minas Tirith for Victory!

The Men cheered loudly; the brave words of their leader steeled their nerves. At this moment a breeze picked up off the ocean. The blue banner unfurled The silver swan-prowed ship could be seen by all. The banner of Dol Amroth, kindled the hope of those that gathered around the soldiers.

"Onward to Minas Tirith," Imrahil exclaims, his eyes and heart ablaze. "Onward to Victory!"


	3. The Past and the future

**Imrahil Chapter 3: Ride To Gondor**

"Your liege?" an aid cried out to Prince Imrahil. Imrahil had been in a near trance as he began the ride at the front of his men. "I am sorry, I was just thinking about more pleasant thoughts," the royal sad softly. Imrahil had plenty to think about, some good, and some bad. He was sixty-four years old; not that aged for a man of Numenorean blood. His father, Adrahil, died just nine years prior to the current emergency. Imrahil was the 22nd Prince of Dol Amroth, he was proud of this.

He had family ties to think about as well. He was following in Finduilas footsteps. The wife of Denethor was not just married the most powerful man in Gondor, but was also Imrahil's sister. He had known from her that the steward was not as he once was, his mind seemed to be going to her. Alphros, his first grandson, was just born two years ago. Imrahil could think of the child laughing and crying. He wished to be playing once more with his grandchild. Now all he could see was the dark clouds of war deepening in the distance. He thought about his wife, how she had birthed him four fine children. He still loved her so much, though it has been some time since anyone has talked about her.

It seemed like forever since he got word to head to Minas Tirith. The air was foul, yet he could still smell the fresh water in his nose. "What day is it?" asked the Lord of Dol Amroth. "It is March 8, 3019 my lord," the aid responded. "Good, we should be at the White Tower by the morrow. I long to see my nephew again." Imrahil recently lost one of his nephews. Boromir, the first son of his sister had died at the hands of uruks when the fellowship of the ring began its journey not that long ago. He knew his other nephew, Faramir, was still at the White City and undoubtedly already engaged in defending his country and in reality, the entire free world.

"My people are tired, the marching has gotten to them," an officer said.

"If some marching is too much for them, what do you think four hours fighting with orcs will be like," the lord said bravely.

He knew that it was not exhaustion that was bothering the men, it was fear. He knew, because he was fearful himself. He can tell that his host was very small, not even a thousand men at arms. He knew few of the other fiefs would be able to send more, many of them were too far away to send any in time before being cut off by the enemy. Imrahil knew it would be bravery and honor that would need to win the battle. The prince was to be shocked when he became aware of the might that Sauron would muster against his nation. However, he remained undaunted or at least appeared to be. "We will continue to move forward, our enemies are miserable scum. We shall ride over them as we ride over the winter's dust," proclaimed the fair prince. His words, if hollow, rang true to his loyal men. They did not waiver on the march and they would not waiver when in battle. They were well prepared for the ordeal ahead.

In the distance, the White Tower came into view. The site of it reminded the prince of his home. This tower, however, was not his home. He hoped it would not be the place of his death either.

"Will you look at that," one man said. Another exclaimed, "It is the most amazing site ever to enter my eye." Minas Tirith towered above the men as they approached. Many could not believe the size of the city. Could a city so large ever fall to a foe? What could they do to defend such a place? Each man from Belfalas had such a sort go through his mind. The gate of the city opened before them. They could see the joy on the faces of the people as they entered. Yet, behind the joy was a deep pain. Many had lost family already, they were already keenly aware of the forces coming to kill them. Looking ahead of him, he saw a face he Imrahil had not seen in some time, his eyes beamed with delight.


	4. Minas Tirith or Its all Relative

**Chapter 4: Welcome to Minas Tirith**

It was March 9, 3019 in the third age of Arda. It was still morning as Imrahil and his men arrived at the capital of their nation. The sky was cloudy, the city tense. Imrahil dismounted from his horse to greet a man who was more than just important to him.

"It is good to see you well Faramir, you seem well," The royal from Belfalas said as he embraced his nephew. Farmir hugged his uncle back and gleefully stated, "it has been a long while, we were wondering if any of the fiefs would send any men. It is good to see that we can count on family."

Through their hugs and smiles the two men were keenly aware that things were not going as well as hoped. The steward's son had the knights and the other soldiers from Dol Amroth set up camp in the lower city. The relatives had other things of importance to discuss. They walked alone up the city, Faramir stopped and told his uncle about the death of Boromir and how he had found the body just a couple of weeks prior. Gloom hit Imrahil's face as the details were explained. It was no secret that Boromir was a bold warrior, indeed if any soldier in Gondor still had the combat skills of the kings of old it was Boromir. The loss of one his nephews was not a good tiding he thought though at least it was obvious he died fighting the enemy. However, Faramir had other news for his uncle.

"Gandalf is in the city," Faramir told his uncle. "Gandalf...here?" Imrahil seemed stunned.

"He is, he offers counsel to my father, but my father is angry with him. He does not trust the wizard." Imrahil was not surprised by this news. Denethor had been steadily decreasing in his health, mentally as well as physically, since the death of his spouse, Imrahil's sister. "But this is not all," continued the Captain of Gondor, "the weapon of the enemy has been found and is being taken to be destroyed at Mount Doom." Imrahil was astonished; the ring of power had been missing for centuries. "How big is the host that is out to accomplish this?" the prince asked.

"Two halflings," was the reply he got solemnly. Imrahil, laughing from disbelief said, "you must not be serious." "Very serious" Faramir said sternly, "I have met them and a guide, whom I do not trust." "However, I had a dream some time ago and more than that, I feel it in my heart that it is good that is being done this way. It is much harder to find such a small party than a large host," Faramir admitted.

Imrahil was surprised. He did not know what caused the decision to be made to go on in this manner. However, he learned from further discussions that Gandalf was also in approval of this. This being the case, the prince accepted what he had been told. He knew his nephew was wise and his judgement should be trusted. The decision being made, he had to take care of what he was called upon to do. As he approached the Steward's hall, he noticed an older looking man outside.

"The master of Belfalas has arrived, good very good." The wizard said with relief. Gandalf, Faramir and Imrahil talked under the White Tree. Imrahil learned of the attacks on Osgiliath and how the Witch-king of Angmar almost killed the captain just a few short days ago. It was Gandalf who intervened just in time to get Faramir to safety. The story was frightening to Imrahil. The enemy was much closer than he had originally thought. He was aware that battle was being raged, but the closeness of the foe made him uncomfortable. He realized the situation was grim. Faramir was unhappy with his father's constant complaints about his shortcomings. Gandalf was enraged over Denethor's despondency and refusal to listen to any advice. Would this be the state of the city's leadership on the eve of destruction? "How could this be?" thought the prince as he listened sorrowfully to the continued bad news coming from his friends.

As they talked under the tree, a hobbit dressed as a tower guard arrived. "Yes, what is it Master Took?" Gandalf asked. "The steward would like for yourself and Faramir to come right away." Pippin said hastily. Imrahil decided he would be going too, he did want to announce his arrival to his brother-n-law after all. His mind was clouded with darkness as the coldness of the city began to close in him. The Prince of Dol Amroth approached the great hall and the door swung open, the darkness of the interior matched that of his heart.

To be continued.


	5. With Disdain

**Imrahil: Chapter 5 – With Disdain**

The party of men, and hobbit, entered the large main hall of Minas Tirith. Imrahil thought to himself about the kings of the past that dined here, his wife who spent many days and nights entertaining guests in the hall. He thought that the hall was now lying in shadow. The walls seemed dark and the air cold, "where has the warmth of the hall gone?" Imrahil questioned in his mind. At this point he noticed that his entire party was silent. None of them have said a word since before the door opened. He realized that the mood of all was grim, he had little to wait to find out why.

Denethor II, the ruling steward of Gondor, sat on the throne of kings. The eyes of the steward looked as if they have not slept in some time, his gaze was such that he felt a chill go down his back. "So my brother, 'The Fair Prince' of Dol Amroth has arrived at the city. What news does he bring." Faramir, not waiting for the prince to respond, replied: "father, Imrahil has brought a thousand men including the famed nights of his city." Denthor looked at his son sternly and said words as cold as frostbite, "I was talking to Imrahil, he brings little, but he has brought back more than you." Faramir stood back holding in his anger. Imrahil was chilled by these words. He had known Denethor to be a stern father, but he has never heard him talk to his son in such coldness. "Denethor, I bring what I could, my lads never skulked from coming," Imrahil pronounced proudly. "My dear man," Denthor said while rising from the throne, "Few of the other town have sent even a single lad to help defend this place, we have no hope to win sitting behind these walls."

Imrahil's head sunk. The hopelessness that came from the steward shook him to his core. Gandalf explained that the enemy was known to be advancing and that all haste should be made to prepare for the attack. Imrahil debated that his men could hold the enemy off outside the city until help arrived. Faramir proclaimed that we would lead his rangers anywhere his father ordered. Denethor advised that he thought that the main advance of the Lord of the Nazgul's army would come through Osgiliath, the same town that Faramir had tried to defend previously. He ordered Faramir to send some rangers to the city and that they should hold it from the enemy. Faramir resisted, as Imrahil thought proper, but he conceded to the will of his father. The men were leaving the hall when Denethor added as an after thought, "It is good to know you are hear Imrahil." Imrahil paused, unable to respond, just nodded.

Faramir left to send out the orders to send his men back to Osgiliath. He could not be too pleased. Imrahil stood with Gandalf overlooking the Pelennor and they discussed the situation a while. Imrahil talked about the better times and about how the tower reminded him of home. "The great thing about home is that it is never further than your heart," the wizard said while stroking his beard nervously.

"You seem unnerved Gandalf, I thought your kind were always calm." Imrahil said in an almost joking manner.

"The man is mad." Gandalf said with disdain. He continued, "He will get his men all killed, he does not think victory possible."

"Victory is always possible, I just wish more help would arrive." Imrahil said.

"Aragorn is going to attempt to come, he fears the weakness that is in all men. But, his duty binds him to come here now." The wizard advised. "But, the road is dangerous."

"Aragorn? Isildur's heir? Is coming back?" Imrahil said with shock. The thought of the king returning lifted his heart.

"Yes, Aragorn will try to come; as will Theoden, King of Rohan." Gandalf continued, "I hope they do not come too late or I hope they manage to come at all."

It was getting dark and Imrahil decided to repair to rest. As he went to sleep he feared for his nephew, the weight on his heart and mind was more than he let on. The prince thought about how the king would come. He hoped that Aragorn would talk some sense into Denethor, but he knew his brother would resist the heir. It appeared that the men of the west were divided amongst themselves when only unity could save them. The clouds were thickening around his heart just as they were thickening overhead. What could he do to save his country and his family? The noble man fell into the world of dreams, tomorrow would be an even more trying day.


	6. Loyalty

**Chapter 6: Loyalty**

"Wake up uncle," was the sound that stirred Imrahil from his much-needed sleep.

"Faramir, pleasant to see you," the prince said with a smile. Imrahil was quick to realize that his look on his nephew's face was not pleasing. "What is it nephew?"

Faramir's expression was dark; "my father is sending me personally to command the troops at Osgiliath." The captain did not hold much hope to survive and Imrahil knew it.

"That is crazy, you should order your men back at once!" Imrahil said with terror. The horde from Mordor was closing in and there simply was not enough manpower available to hold Osgiliath. However, Faramir was determined to redeem himself in his father's eyes.

"Sorry uncle, but if I do not return remember my love and loyalty to my father. Make sure he knows of it," Faramir's voice was deep and ringed with a fatalistic tone.

"I will look for you to return, I am not about to lose another nephew so soon," The prince said in his ever-loving manner. The men hugged and then parted. Imrahil watched him mount his horse and ride from the city. A tear went down the prince's face.

Imrahil went to his men and checked on how they were doing. He found that they have been hearing the rumors of the enemy's power. The city-folk of Minas Tirith had little hope left in them. Many have not heard from their steward in some time, they can only see men-at-arms heading in and out of the city. Always there were fewer coming back from these sorties. They can read the scarred faces of the soldiers; they could feel the darkness setting in on them. Imrahil continued to tell his men how they have defeated stronger powers before and that their ancestors survived a destruction of a continent. His rousing words stirred his men, but more importantly calmed him and kept his mind from his nephew's duty. Furthermore, Denethor had little to say to him. Imrahil's counsel was not sought and Gandalf's was being rejected at almost every turn. Yet, knowing Denethor was still planning to hold the city to the end was a comforting thought. Even if he had no hope, Denethor was giving him a chance to ready the men for the battle that was coming. Why was Denethor still fighting with so little hope? The answer was clear as bright as a summer day, Finduilas.

There were few things the aging steward ever cared for as much as his sons. One of them was his wife. Finduilas loved Denethor, she was loyal to him and bore him his only children. While she was unhappy being so far from the sea, she tried not to show those feelings for the benefit of her husband. In his better years the steward was fond of his spouse and did all he could to make her life in Minas Tirith a happy one. He had built big fountains and pools so she could sea the bright water that she missed so much. Nothing pleased him more than seeing Boromir and Faramir playing with their mother on the grass under the trees in the court. Denethor used to smile all the time, his pride in his duty and his family always followed him. The people of Gondor admired him greatly, he was one of the most active stewards in the history of the country. It was his loyalty to his family and the memory of Finduilas that kept the steward active in his defense of the place, even with no hope remaining in his soul. He was alone in his thoughts when he heard a thud next to him.

"Ouch, sorry sir." Said Pippin, "I did not mean to run into your leg, I was just hurrying along and was distracted by this bird...." The hobbit's manner humored the prince.

"It is alright master hobbit. I do not think you could hurt a mouse if you ran into it at full speed with a lance beside you," Imrahil said laughing.

"Tell me Pippin, what do you think of loyalty." The prince asked.

"Well, loyalty is important. It is what keeps you trying even when there is little to try for. It is what keeps bonds between people strong." Pippin's face sunk as he felt his answer was too simple.

"Do you have anything that keeps you here? Why not return to the shire away from all this terror and violence." Imrahil asked.

"Well, my friends are all off trying to accomplish things for good, it would not look very well on my part to go home while they are still in danger." The hobbit then continues, "we have come so far together. Now that we are parted, I feel that we can still act as a team though there may be great distance between us. While it seems we all act individually, it is the collective actions of us all that matter together."

"Young lad, you can teach us something about friendship." Imrahil was impressed by Pippin. It is true that as long as everyone was true to a common goal, even if they wished to achieve it differently, they were still being loyal to each other. At least, this is how the prince saw it. With this, the prince asked the hobbit, "Why are you still laying on the ground?"


	7. A Close Run Thing

**Chapter 7: A Close Run Thing**

It was morning on March 13, 3019 of the third age. The prince was talking with Gandalf and Pippin over some tea.

"How long has it been since you have had any word from the ring bearer?" asked the prince thoughtfully.

"It has been a few weeks since Faramir claims to have met Frodo and Sam. They were not yet in Mordor so it is impossible to say what happened to them trying to enter that realm," the wizard replied.

"It is funny," Pippin said offhanded, "here we are talking about the safety of Frodo and Sam and yet we are in peril ourselves."

"Our safety would only be a temporary thing no matter what we accomplish unless the ring is destroyed." Gandalf said sternly back.

"What do we hope to accomplish here then Gandalf?" Imrahil questioned.

"Sauron is scared and that is a good thing." Galdalf said with relief. "It appears he thinks the ring may be here and not heading right under his nose."

"Sam is good at hiding out of site as I recall," Pippin said jokingly and the three laughed.

"It sounds like your friends are both brave and close to your hearts. I do hope I have the chance to thank them on behalf of my people some day." Imrahil said as the Wizard and Pippin nodded.

"Ouch!" Howled the hobbit. "The sword keeps poking me.

"Feel good it is the top that is doing the poking Master Took." Imrahil said. "You may scream louder.

Just as these words escaped from the mouth of the prince, a sentry howled. "Its Faramir and his men, they are in danger."

Gandalf quickly sent Pippen away to tell Denethor that his son was hard pressed trying to escape to the city.

Imrahil put his help on his head, jumped on his horse and with great haste sped to get some men. His knights, ever brave, were already mounted. Imrahil led them to the gate of the city.

Arriving at the gate at the same time as Gandalf the riders paused for a brief second. Before them was Faramir and only a few other survivors, riding on horseback being followed by a force, mainly Haradrim, much greater than them and a Nazgul riding a fell beast.

"We have no moment to spare." Gandalf yelled "Forward!"

Imrahil spurred his horse on. A second felt like a day to the prince, minutes were like years. Riding at full speed his men and their fabulous horses quickly passed the steward's son and his men and crashed into the hoard of evil men that were on his tail. The crash as they rode into them was like a thunderstorm. "Back with you, back with you I say" Imrahil yelled as he slashed down some of the enemy. He could see his men being circled, but the Nazgul had fled. The light of Gandalf's staff had pushed back the most feared foe.

"Get back to the city! Make Haste!" The Wizard cried.

"Back men, retreat, back to Minas Tirith!" echoed the prince to his men.

They turned and spurred their mounts swiftly back toward the gates. The enemy paused to recover from the sudden, if not effective, attack.

Imrahil spurred toward Faramir. "Something is wrong, his horse has slowed." Cried the Prince. He quickly dismounted and realized that an arrow had pierced Faramir. With expert care the prince removed the arrow from Faramir's body. He could tell that his nephew was still breathing. "I am sorry nephew" he whispered as he picked up Faramir and rode back to the city with his beloved nephew on his horse.

As he arrived back in the city, onlookers cried as the prone body of Faramir was seen. Denethor, having been alerted by Pippen as to what was transpiring was there to meet them.

"Oh, my dear Faramir. The enemy has struck you down." Denethor cried.

"He is alive brother, though it was a close run thing." Imrahil said with urgency, "He needs more care, the arrow has been removed from him."

"You idiot, had you been paying a closer eye on the enemy and less on yourself, you could have arrived earlier." Denethor said with mad rage.

Denethor had Faramir taken back to the tower and he quickly went from site. Imrahil went to go with them, but Gandalf stopped him.

"Do not bother prince. There is nothing more you can do."

Imrahil, dejected, collapsed in tears. The enemy could now be seen closing around the city.

"Up my prince, it is time to see what strength man has left." Gandalf gazed across the Pelennor.


	8. Waiting

**Chapter 8: Waiting**

As the shadow from the east continued to darken the sky around Minas Tirith, the fair prince continued to talk to his men and make sure that they were ready for the all out assault they would be facing in the next couple of days. His thoughts kept falling back to his nephew's bloody body and his brother-in-law's misplaced anger and sadness. The city seemed to be in a state of mourning. He was happy to see that the spirit of the men was holding firm.

Over the course of the morning, he could get no word on Faramir's health. Denethor was not answering any dispatches sent to him and he had not been seen outside of the tower since the previous day. He would see Gandalf regularly, but the wizard was always busy on business. Imrahil was not new to warfare, Though fighting from behind a wall was not to his liking. He would rather be out of the city using his large horses to fight the foe on his own terms. But, he had too few men and it would be perilous to open the gate in the face of the enemy.

Imrahil was now always armed. Gandalf and he had decided to make sure all men would be armed properly until the matter was decided. The pain of waiting for the enemy to attack was weighing heavily on him. The air was foul smelling with the stench of the orcs and their unkempt camp outside. They could hear the orcs, Haradrim and Easterlings singing their battle songs. Drums were beating and the shriek of he Nazgul could also be heard. Inside the city all seemed quite. It was almost as if the citizens had resigned themselves to their fate. The site of Faramir had caused them to despair. "My dear nephew, I should have been with you. Our people need you now." The royal man thought to himself.

"I am afraid you will have little time to grieve, fair prince." A fatherly voice said.

Imrahil looked up and saw the White Wizard looking at him warmly.

"Faramir lives, I do not believe his wounds to be mortal. Pippin fears the upcoming battle, but he is willing to fight for his friends." Gandalf explained calmly.

"The people need him now." Imrahil said with desperation.

"The people will need him in the future. If it was not for you, he may have been slain." Gandalf said, "we are lucky to have you here."

Imrahil could not fight off the smile. Gandalf's countenance was brave and this lifted the prince's spirit. "Faramir is a fighter, I know he will not forgive himself for missing this battle." Imrahil thought for a second, "I guess it is his fighting spirit that would not allow himself to fall to the enemy's weapons."

"Catapults!" screamed a watchman. Imrahil and Gandalf raised up and great whirling sound could be heard. Screams and shouts of the men followed the noise of the projectiles. They could hear the giant missiles hitting the walls of the city. The Wizard and the Prince quickly broke up their meeting. The Prince ordered his men up and placed them close to the wall as if to avoid the rocks that were being hurled into the city. "Keep calm men," Imrahil pleaded. "Before it is over you will all get your chance to strike a blow for the west." The prince said with a sound of encouragement.

The prince knew that the waiting was finally over. He just hoped he would see his children, and Faramir, alive again.


	9. The Wolf's Head

Chapter 9: The Wolf's head

To Imrahil the dark skies and the evil chants of their foes from outside the walls meant the doom of all that had loved in the world. He knew now that no more reinforcements would be coming from Gondor. He knew the elves would be having difficulties of their own, plus like the kingdom of Dale and the Dwarves, they were simply to far to be of any service. The Prince was aware that a courier had been sent to Rohan, but there has been no word of him for days. Imrahil kept his men on their feet and made sure that they kept their arrows flying through the air.

"There is no sleep now men, fight for life!" Imrahil exclaimed. His men were tired, many could not sleep out of the fear of battle that was normal for anyone that was going to put themselves in harms way. "If you sleep today you shall not open your eyes this side of Aman," The Prince reminded.

"That seems a bit harsh don't you think?" questioned the white wizard.

"Not at all, it is the truth. If life does not motivate men to fight than nothing will." Imrahil responded sharply.

It was obvious that the Prince was being tested mentally and physically. His nephew was in the citadel and he had no time to get word as to his fate, Denethor would not send down any further orders and only Gandalf and himself were now in command of a city that was home to neither of them.

Still, the rocks fell from the enemy's machines, Nazgul could be seen overhead and the men were at wits end. The enemy was trying to knock down the gates of the city. Imrahil smiled, "they can not break the gates." His men and the other archers of Gondor continued to fight and fire arrows and their own boulders down at the besiegers as they helplessly flailed themselves at the city's giant steel gate.

"Do not get too proud of the effort we are giving" Gandalf warned. "They are many more than us and we are cut off, the dark lord has not even shown us his full might yet."

"The people inside the city are panicking and the nazgul are able to strike fear into all, yet we still hold them at bay Mithrandir," Imrahil said smartly.

The time was late and the enemy was pulling back from the gate. Gandalf was not at his happiest. He knew that the men could not hold up long. The people of Gondor needed help, none was guaranteed. Then the word "Grond!" was heard echoing from across the fields. Imrahil looked out over the ramparts in shock and horror. "It's a giant wolf head"

"Yes," responded Gandalf, "Grond, named for the mace of Morgoth himself." Gandalf called for Shadowfax, his mount came on his own and he mounted.

"Where are you going?" The lord of Dol Amroth asked.

"I am heading toward the gate, it is about to fall." Gandalf said and he rode off.

Imrahil could not believe the gate would fall, but he decided he could not let Gandalf ride to the gate alone. He sent his knights to get their mounts. They quickly mounted and headed toward the gate. A steady hammering and cracking could be heard by the prince and his men. By the time they arrived in the courtyard they could see the gate was down. Gandalf stood at the gate, defiantly challenging a dark foe mounted on a giant winged beast. Imrahil could go no further, his men all stopped without orders as if the earth itself had frozen under the hooves of their horses. For all they knew, fear had finally taken them. They horror they felt at the site of this enemy was too much for them to advance, yet lesser men would not have been able to even stand witness without fleeing.

For a moment all was quiet, then a horn could be heard blowing. The enemy quickly vanished from site and them men quickly returned and the bravery the knights were known for returned. Imrahil rode at the head of his knights and came upon Gandalf.

"What is happening my friend?"

"Its Theoden!"

Imrahil could only close his eyes and be thankful Rohan has arrived.


	10. Saving Grace

Chapter 10: Saving Grace

For Imrahil and the knights the Rohirrim were a welcome site. They had a similar combat style as they fought mounted on grand steeds. Soldiers of Gondor quickly chased the enemy from the courtyard of the City of Kings and started to file into the battle on the fields outside the walls. Gandalf told Imrahil that there was an urgent matter he had to attend to at the citadel and left the prince to command the men in Gondor by himself. Imrahil ordered the charge and he and his knights sprang forward and into the painful world of combat.

The screams of the men, the wails of the injured and dying, the sounds of battle would have frightened off those of lesser spirits, but the blood was Imrahil was warm and he would not show mercy to Orc, Southron or Easterling. This day he was going to vanquish them all from his homeland. Then he saw a brave captain of Rohan fighting off many foes, riding them over and he seemed undaunted and stood as if harm could not come to him. Imrahil's gaze was caught and not a moment too soon. "Watch out!" Screamed Imrahil as he quickly sped his horse toward the man.

The man looked over his shoulder and saw a man from Harad fall just before he was about to swing his sword across his neck.

"That was a close call for you my brave man," Imrahil said with relief. He had not known how long he has been in battle, but he already was taking deep breaths as if the air had been out of him for quite some time.

"Thank you, for they swarm like vermin over a farm field. Eomer, am I, Captain of Rohan, Nephew of Theoden." The startled man said, still looking around to not get caught off guard again.

"I am Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, Captain of Gondor." Imrahil said admiring the younger man. Eomer had a look of a warrior and a noble bearing worthy of any soldier he had known.

"We shall charge together, may the horse and the swan fight as one." Imrahil said.

"Eorlingas, Forward." Eomer screamed to his eored as he brought some into line. Eomer gave a glance to Imrahil, and they charged together as many of the enemies fell in front of them. They saw that some of their riders were no longer with them after the completed their sweep. Such was war; there was no time to grieve. Just as the men caught their breath they heard horns.

The battle onwards as the knights of Rohan and Dol Amroth found themselves in a whirlwind of combat against Oliphaunts of Harad. Then there was a hush and like clouds parting to show the sky, the two men halted. "My lord, what is happening?" Eomer questioned himself out loud. Imrahil's eyes were fixed on this dark figure battling with a man over the fallen Theoden.

"That is my sister!" Eomer exclaimed in disbelief.

"There is no hope against the Lord of the Nazgul." Imrahil said sadly.

"If we help, we go to our doom, If we do nothing, she will go to her's" Imrahil said. He glanced at Eomer.

"We must save her." Just as the two men began to ride over there was a loud scream of pain from the enemy, and they Saw Eowyn slay the King of the Nazgul. She then fell, and appeared to have used her last breath sending the evil lord to his end.

"No!" Cried Eomer who quickly jumped from his horse, forgetting about the battle that was raging around him. Just then, Imrahil heard Theoden pronounce Eomer King, and he slipped from the world of men.

Eomer held his sister and sobbed over the fallen bodies of his family. He was now the new wearer of the crown of Rohan. Even as his men tried to comfort him, he sat on the ground and ordered Theoden and Eowyn to be removed from the field.

"They are lost, we are too late, thank you" Eomer whispered to Imrahil as he walked by. Following Eomer was a procession of men, bearing the bodies. Imrahil bowed his head as they walked. Then he sensed something from Eowyn, he smiled, cried, and yelled, "She lives!" The men stopped, Eomer dashed back to him. "Eomer, your sister still lives. Her arm is badly broken and she is suffering from the black breath. She can still be helped." Imrahil was excited, almost stuttering as he spoke.

"Take her to the houses of healing now." Imrahil said. "Yes, sir." Was the response and the men took her for the aid she so needed. Eomer, was grateful for this miracle, smiled through his tears and hugged Imrahil. Eomer than took off after the procession.

The Prince looked over the field, he had barely noticed that reinforcements had arrived from the river. He was looking over toward the ships that were now there and saw a site he had not expected to ever see A flag with a tree and stars.


End file.
